The Temporal Heart
Chapter 1 Part 2
Part TWO of the FIRST CHAPTER.
NOT a new chapter. (So it’s the same day)
[Chapter One: Part Two]
They were sitting in the bustling Three Broomsticks, each contentedly sipping a frothing glass mug of warm Butterbeer and talking animatedly about trivial matters. They certainly had much to catch up on, and the topics of which they could talk about, were endless.
Currently, they were going over the spectacular Quidditch match that had taken place only an hour before, but a fairly blushing Harry kept trying to change the subject, not too fond of being fawned over as if he’d actually done something particularly significant. He hadn’t after all, for he’d caught the Golden Snitch numerous times before, hadn’t he?
None of the four wanted to talk about the fight afterwards with the Slytherins. They were all still furious with them for diminishing the Gryffindor’s moment of glory.
So instead, they picked up where they had left off after the Slytherins had left.
“But I still can’t believe it Oliver-” Hermione smiled at the oldest of the four who was gulping down his drink at an impressive pace. “I mean, having you back at Hogwarts and everything.”
“Yeah.” Ron nodded, taking a long swig of his own Butterbeer. “This year will definitely be the best. Fred and George were always telling me how great a Captain you were you know.”
“Heh.” Oliver grinned with a shrug. “Fred and George, they were one of a kind... or rather, two of one kind- best Beaters Hogwart’s ever had, I tell you.”
“If I told them that you were here right now, they’d probably apparate over in a flash.” Ron chuckled, then turned thoughtful looking. “Did you know that they’ve been running a joke shop in Diagon Alley for two years now? It’s called-”
“Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. I know, I’ve visited them there before.” Oliver finished for him. “They’ve got some nifty stuff.”
Ron beamed and puffed out his chest.
“So Harry-” Oliver said, turning towards Harry. “How’s life been for you?”
Harry furrowed his brows. “Not bad I guess. Had a couple of encounters with Lord Volde-”
“You mean, You-Know-Who-” Ron corrected sharply, glaring at him.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, I meant, You-Know-Who. Anyways, that and er- I got 5 O.W.L.s and that’s about it.”
“You could have gotten at least eight, if you’d come to the Library to steady with me more often.” Hermione commented lightly, with raised eyebrows.
“Eight? Who needs eight?” Ron snorted. “I’m bloody happy with the four I got. Charlie’s got a great job and he told me he only got three O.W.L.s when he was in fifth year.”
Harry couldn’t help but smile inwardly at this. Ron looked up to his older brothers so much that it seemed that anything they did was beyond satisfactory and worthy of great praise. He could remember when Ron would not stop boasting every day about Fred and George’s scandalous escape from Umbridge two years ago, for a good month. Even now, he’d even bring it up sometimes if he felt as if the Weasley’s were beginning to lack commemoration.
“Yes, well- just because your brothers didn’t get more than enough O.W.L.s- or N.E.W.T.s for that matter- it definitely doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t.” Hermione said with an injured sniff. “Especially when you have someone here who’s willing to help.” she added the last bit quietly. Quietly enough for it to breeze over Ron’s head unheard, but loud enough for Harry to hear. Harry truly felt sympathy for her. He could imagine (although he would never really understand) how it felt to have two best friends who weren’t as obsessed about books and studies as herself. There were many things that Harry and Ron would not put up with about Hermione, yet now that he saw the hurt look on her soft features, he couldn’t help but feel a tad bit guilty.
Perhaps it was time to change the subject again...
He coughed loudly and took a swig of his Butterbeer.
He opened his mouth to ask Oliver how things were going with his life, but stopped himself just in time. That question would have been the most stupidest question he could think of, since it was plain to see that his ex-captain was feeling completely upset about being kicked off the team. Shaking his head and telling himself off silently, he instead just glanced at Oliver and gave him a warm smile.
Oliver looked genuinely surprised, but returned the smile with a coy wink.
For some very odd reason (and it was certainly very odd because it completely confused him), Harry felt his cheeks blushing ever-so-slightly, like he’d just been overly flattered or something.
And then, because he knew himself to be blushing, he blushed even more.
“Harry, mate-” Ron said suddenly, “-you feeling alright?”
Hermione looked up from her drink and her downcast expression promptly disappeared. “Your face is extremely flushed- are you not feeling well?”
Harry snuck a quick look in Oliver’s direction again and saw with horror that he was smiling as if amused about Harry’s situation.
“Uh- it must be the drink.” he said hastily, forcing an offhand shrug.
“But it’s Butterbeer.” Ron said skeptically. “Who gets canned with their first glass of it?”
Harry’s mouth opened uncomfortably.
“Or like Hermione said, I could be feeling a bit sick.”
“Do you need to go back to the castle?” she asked worriedly.
“Maybe the Ferret hexed him when no one was looking!” Ron suggested urgently. “I mean, I ended up hurling slugs when I fought with him remember?”
Harry laughed out loud, earning a bewildered glare from the red head.
Oliver grinned and exchanged a knowing look with Harry. “Didn’t that weird hex came from your own wand though?” he said pointedly to Ron.
Ron looked indignantly from one face to the next, as if they were all crazy loons. “But if it hadn’t been for Malfoy, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place.”
“Oh, right.” Oliver nodded and agreed good-naturedly. “Good point.”
Harry stifled a snigger.
Back at Hogwarts, the mood of things were considerably different. Especially down in the Slytherin common room.
Most of the seventh years were gathered amongst the overstuffed velvet chairs before the fire with expressions that looked as if they’d been tricked into paying more for something that cost practically nothing. In other words, they were so furious, that they were literally spouting flame and stream from their ears.
One of these Slytherins, a very pale, very blonde one, was pacing the length of the room with his arms crossed over his chest and a glare imbedded into his face that would have sent the meanest bully of the school cowering into the shadows.
“FUCKING CHEATING POTTER!” he screamed. “He fucking KNOWS he fucking CHEATED!”
“Draco dear-” a worried looking Pansy tried consolingly. “We all know Potter’s a no good cheating scum- but he’s just that, and only that.”
“And he fucking embarrassed me in front of the WHOLE FUCKING SCHOOL!” the blonde ranted on as if he hadn’t heard her at all. “No one, NO ONE tricks a Malfoy!”
“He’ll pay, Draco.” Montague said icily. “We’ll make sure of that.”
“The hell we will!” exploded Draco. “He’ll be such a sorry ass by the time we’re done with him that he won’t even know why he’s still alive!”
Bletchly stood up. “Yeah, and we’ll make him regret ever crossing our path!”
Draco’s eyes narrowed menacingly and he let out a hiss like a snake.
“Oh yes. He’ll definitely regret ever crossing my path, the bloody Golden Boy.”
Blaise, who was lounging lazily on one of the large couches, smirked and spoke up.
“You’ve got any ideas for him?”
Draco turned his head to meet Blaise’s gaze coldly. “Not yet, but I will. Believe me, I will.”
Warrington was twirling his wand between his fingers with a wicked smile on his face. “Think of something good Draco, and I don’t care if it means we have to force-feed him poison.” he snorted. “HA! Wouldn’t that be a joke? The Dark Lord can’t kill him, but a bunch of seventh years can!”
Crabbe and Goyle sniggered rather stupidly from their corners.
Draco, despite his anger, couldn’t help but find himself amused.
“I can see the headlines already- Salazar Slytherin’s Faithful Followers Poison Immortal Harry Potter’s Pumpkin Juice!” Warrington recited loudly, eliciting a bout of guffaws from all who were listening. “Imagine that, eh?”
“We won’t be killing him though.” Draco leered unpleasantly. “No... if we killed him, he wouldn’t experience enough pain... it’s got to be something worse... or rather, better.”
Oh yes. Oh fucking yes.
Potter would pay dearly, and Draco would make sure that he made a living hell out of the Gryffindor’s life.
Feeling a bit more satisfied then before, he settled smugly into a couch and watched the roaring flames lickit tht the charcoaled logs in the fireplace.
Oh how he wished those logs were Potter’s face.